by J. D. Robb
“Look, you don’t understand.” He spread his hands, a man of perfect reason. “I have to see my boy. I have to make sure he’s all right. You . . . something’s wrong with him. I’m afraid he might have done something. He might have done something horrible. I’ve tried to take care of him, but he’s been—”
“Do you think I’m going to buy that bullshit?” She let her fury go, just go, and hauled him out of the chair. “You disgusting fucker. You made him, and now you’d let him fry. Just like you let her. To save yourself.”
She all but threw him back into the chair. “You have no idea what I’d like to do to you, with my bare hands. So don’t fuck with me. You made a monster out of him. You raped his mind, filled it with hate and loathing and lies. What makes people like you, fathers like you who’d do that to their children?”
She stepped away, stared at herself in the two-way mirror. Her heart beat too fast, and her hands wanted to tremble. It was getting away from her, she thought. She couldn’t let it get away from her.
She lifted one hand, laid her palm on the glass. A mirror on one side, a window on the other. And she imagined Roarke’s palm pressed to hers.
He knew her, she reminded herself. All there was. He was there, and he’d keep being there. She could handle this. She could handle anything.
Okay, she thought. I’m okay.
For another moment, she stared into her own eyes. “She didn’t love him either, or not enough. He was . . . secondary to her. It was all about you.” Steady again, she turned back. “She protected you and didn’t spare him a backward glance. And when you got over your head with the Stallions, you offered her. She was secondary to you, after your own ass. She was someone to be used. That’s all she was to you. A bargaining chip.”
“That’s not true.” He said it slowly, his voice thickening, his eyes taking on a sheen. “I loved my son’s mother.”
“You can’t even say his name. You don’t know which name to use. He never really had one,” she added. Neither had she. They hadn’t named her so she’d remain nothing.
“He told us everything.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
“Oh yes, he would.” Some of her fatigue came through, so she used it and angled it toward a kind of boredom. “In his twisted way, he was making you a hero.” She walked back, leaned down. “He was bragging about you, Vance. How you taught him everything, told him everything. How you found your targets together. How you did the stalking, the research, shared that with him. How you planned it all out.
“And even if I didn’t have all that—on the record . . .”
She began pulling items out of the box. “Discs—with data on the two people he murdered, the woman he tried to kill just today, on the one he planned to kill next week, and so on. On their families, their habits, their work, their friends.
“Very thorough.”
She pulled out stacks of photos. “Visuals of same—including the ones he took of Deena and Karlene after he’d finished with them, so he could share the triumph with you. There’s more. There’s so much more. It’s just a freaking banquet of evidence. I know an APA who’s going to be shedding tears of joy.”
“I can make a deal.” He gestured with his hands, like a politician, she thought, emphasizing a talking point. “There’s a lot you don’t know. I’ll give you information.”
“Gee, that’s some offer. But, no thanks. I’ve got more than I need, and jeez, it’s been a long day already. Your prints are all over this stuff. All over it.”
He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “I’m showing remorse. He pulled me into it. He’s my son, and he needed my help. I raised him on my own, just him and me. And losing his mother the way we did, it . . . marked us. I was going to talk him into turning himself in, to get help.”
“Would that be after he killed Judge Mimoto’s mother today, or maybe just one or two more?”
“I didn’t know about today. About Mimoto. I . . . thought he was at work. He consults for Biodent, he’s a data analyst. I thought he was at work.”
“Jesus, Vance.” She paused, let out a belly laugh. “You’re so completely screwed. You have today’s hit marked on your freaking datebook like a dentist appointment.”
“I couldn’t stop him.”
“Are you just going to keep throwing this shit at the wall until something sticks?”
“I never killed anybody. That has to mean something. I helped him, sure. Okay, I helped him set it all up, but that’s all. And I’m remorseful. You can cut me a break. I never killed anybody.”
“Yes, you did.” The fatigue vanished, the boredom flipped into icy rage. “And if I could, I’d charge you with the murder of Illya Schooner, and with a kid of about four who died and became what you wanted him to be. The only break you’ll get from me is the recommendation you be placed in a cage in another sector of Omega, so you never have contact with your son. Because he’ll figure it out sooner or later, I gave him a start on that today. And once he does, he’ll turn his talents on you. So the break you get, Vance? You live.”
“I want a lawyer.”
“Subject has requested representation. Interview end.”
“There’s money,” he said as she began loading the box. “I have a lot of money hidden away. Secure. I can make it worth your while if you lose that evidence.”
“Really? My while’s worth a lot.”
“Five million.”
“So, if I tamper with this evidence so you get off, you’ll give me five million dollars?”
“Cash.”
“Thanks.” She tapped her lapel. “I guess you didn’t notice my recorder. We’ll add attempting to bribe a police office to the roll.”
He screamed at her as she walked out, ugly invectives that were music to her ears. “Walk this down to Evidence.” She passed the box to the uniform she had waiting. “And you can take that ball of puss. He wants a lawyer.”
She kept walking. Roarke met her with a tube of Pepsi.
“God, that felt good. Now I feel good.” She cracked the tube and drank deep. “Now bright sounds right.”
“Peabody called to check. I told her I thought you were wrapping things up. I’m to tell you Trina’s waiting for you.”
“Shit. That was mean of you.”
He walked with her. “You did well. You . . . decimated him.”
“You were in Observation? I . . . I felt you.”
“Where else would I be?”
This time she took his hand, laced her fingers with his. Palm to palm, she thought. He was there. He always would be.
“I know it sounds weird, but when I started to fill up with him, with my father, I felt you. I guess you could say I leaned on you. It helped me stay steady.”
He brought her hand to his lips. “Let’s you and I go find some of that bright.”
EPILOGUE
THE ROOM SMELLED LIKE A GARDEN AND SOUNDED LIKE A flock of birds—possibly chickadees—had just taken roost. Why, she wondered, did women so often sound like songbirds when they gathered together for one of their rites?
She sat, because she’d told herself it was her job to sit, in what Peabody had gleefully dubbed the Bridal Suite, while Trina slathered God-knew-what all over her face.
“Stop squirming.” Trina, her hair a puzzling maze of braids and twists in screaming red, kept slathering.
“When, by all that’s holy, are you going to stop?”
“When I’m finished. This product is going to help ease the bruising and cover it up. You could’ve at least tried not to get hit in the face right before the wedding.”
“Oh yeah, I should’ve tried harder not to get caught in a human stampede since a black eye doesn’t go with my dress.”
“What I’m saying,” Trina agreed. “It’s not so bad. We got a lot of it treated last night when you finally got here.”
“Would you get off my ass? Murderers, two vicious killers behind bars.”
“I’ll add it to your scorecard,” Trina said
and snapped her gum.
Peabody, her hair glossed and curled, her square-jawed face polished and painted, peered over Trina’s shoulder. “You can hardly see it. Plus, it makes her skin all dewy.”
“Wait till I add the base.”
“More? I already have an inch troweled on. Why can’t I—”
“Quit bitching. Why don’t you get her some champagne,” Trina suggested. “This can soak in while I start on Louise.” She gave Eve a hard grin. “She doesn’t need as much work.”
“Sure.” Peabody strolled off in her floaty blue dress and bare feet.
Mavis, in a skintight mini nearly as red as Trina’s hair zipped up on matching sandals with the teetering heels shaped like open hearts. “Looking flip, Dallas. Is this the most total day ever? Here hold Bellamina a minute. I want to get bubbly for the bride.”
So saying, she dropped her six-month-old daughter in Eve’s lap. “Hey, Mavis, don’t—”
But it was too late as Eve had an armful of chubby baby in foaming, lacy pink. Blonde curls in pink ribbons danced as Bella bounced. She said, “Gah,” and grinned.
“Okay. God. Okay. Why are you always smiling?” Eve demanded. “What do you know?”
Bella squealed, gave a kind of push and straightened her legs until she was standing, weaving and bobbing with a maniacal look in her eyes as an ice pick of panic rammed into Eve’s stomach. “What’s she doing? For God’s sake, somebody do something.”
“She’s just trying out her legs.” Efficiently, Peabody snatched the giggling baby, balanced Bella on her hip, then passed Eve a flute of champagne.
Eve drank half of it down in one swallow.
APA Cher Reo breezed in, sleek and cool in pale lavender. “Everything looks amazing! The flowers, the candles, the—”
“Are you sure?” Louise demanded from her chair as Trina fussed and brushed. “I feel like I should pop down and just make sure everything’s in place.”
“Believe me. It’s like a fairy tale. Oh God, yes,” she said when Mavis scooted up with another glass of champagne. “I wanted to come up, let you know the status, Dallas. Darrin Pauley, against advice of counsel, waives a trial. Counsel’s trying to pull a ‘he’s mentally incapable,’ which won’t fly. That’s according to Mira. He understands the difference between right and wrong, is legally competent to make decisions. He just doesn’t give a rat’s ass. That’s paraphrasing Mira. They don’t have a prayer. He’s going in, and staying in.”
“That calls for another drink. Vance Pauley?”
“Wants a trial. Refused an offer of twenty-five for each conspiracy count, consecutively. That’s added on to time for the fraud, and the bribery.”
“What the hell did you make an offer for?”
“Dallas, seventy-five years plus puts him in for the rest of his life. He knows it, and he’s gambling. He’s going to lose. The good guys won. So.” She lifted her glass. “Oh, Nadine’s on her way. She just finished a live update on the arrests. We’re—Trina, what kind of eyeshadow is that? It’s gorgeous!”
Law and order forgotten under enhancements, Reo scrambled over to watch Trina transform the bride.
Women came in, went out in what seemed to Eve a blur of summer color. She struggled to sit stoically while she herself was transformed. Painted, buffed, fluffed, and polished. She could only feel relief when she could escape Trina’s hands, shrug off the protective cape, the robe, and get dressed.
“You look really mag,” Peabody said and brushed her fingers over the tissue-thin layers of Eve’s dress. “It’s like sunlight, the color. Summer sunlight.”
“My huggie bear’s a genius,” Mavis proclaimed. “I’m playing hand-maid so, I’ve got your glitters.”
“Serious glitters.” Peabody whistled at the long dangles of diamonds Eve fixed to her ears.
“Ice really sets off the dress. Pendant, bracelets,” Mavis continued.
“I don’t need all that stuff.”
“Trust Leonardo. He worked out the look. See for yourself.” Mavis circled her finger so Eve turned to look in the long mirror.
“Hmmm.” The dress was more female than her usual, with all the sheer layers shimmering down, but she had to admit it wasn’t fussy. And the diamonds, clear and clean, probably did add something. “Fine. Good.”
“Total,” Mavis corrected.
“You need to help Louise dress now,” Peabody told her.
“Why? She’s a big girl. She’s probably been dressing herself for years.”
“It’s tradition.”
Eve rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay.” She walked over to where Louise stood unbelting her robe. And cocked her eyebrows at the frilly white corset and blue garter. “That’ll make a statement.”
“It will later. Right now its job is to make the dress fit perfectly.” She winced. “There’s that perfect again.”
“Well, let’s see.” Eve started to remove the dress from its hanger. “Man, there’s a lot of it. No wonder you can’t do it yourself.”
“Oh God. I’m putting on my wedding dress.”
Eve looked over sharply. “Don’t start leaking! It’ll do something to your face, then Trina will start up again.”
“I’m waterproofed.” She turned her back so Eve could fasten the back of the dress.
“Your grandmother’s earrings.” Peabody handed Louise the delicate pearl drops. “Something old.”
“New, the dress, blue, the garter.” Louise put on the earrings. “And the necklace Leonardo picked from Dallas’s treasure box for something borrowed.” She glanced back at Eve before Peabody helped her fasten it. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Nearly done here. One more button. There, Jesus, there must be two dozen buttons.”
“No, don’t turn around yet! Don’t look yet!” Peabody ordered. “We have to attach the veil, then you can look.”
“You do it. I’ll mess up her hair, then Trina will kill me.” And Eve had to admit, the soft, loose curls were pretty, and well, perfect, she decided when Peabody hooked the veil to the tiny, sparkling tiara nestled in them.
Peabody sniffled, blinked, but tears spilled out anyway.
“Cut it out,” Eve ordered.
“I can’t help it.” She stepped back, where she and Mavis wrapped arms around each other’s waist and sniffled in accord.
Louise took a deep breath, turned.
“Well, holy shit.” Eve stared. “I think you went a couple clicks up from perfect.”
Romantic, Eve thought, but almost otherworldly with acres of white foamy, filmy, floating skirts, the sparkle of beads on the strapless bodice. The dress was a winner, no question, but the look on Louise’s face outshone even that.
“I look like a bride,” Louise murmured.
“Here.” Tears trickling, Trina offered Louise her bouquet of sweet-heart roses in shades of the palest pink to the deepest red. Then gave Eve and Peabody their smaller rounds. “Come on, Mavis, we’d better get down there.”
Mavis scooped up the baby. “Say bye, Bellarina. You’re all seriously beautiful.” She sighed and hurried out.
“Ready?” Eve asked Louise.
“Dallas.” She held out a hand, took Eve’s for a hard squeeze. “I’m so ready.”
The sun shone, and the quietest of breezes whispered under the music of flutes and violins. Masses of flowers sweetened the air. Peabody walked first down the white runner forming an aisle between the seated guests toward the arbor of white roses where Charles stood with Roarke and McNab.
Eve followed her. Her eyes met Roarke’s. And there, she thought, right there was the reason for this. The reason for the flowers and the pomp, the fuss and the formality.
There was love.
Only you, she remembered. She’d walked to him on a summer day once before, and he’d seen only her.
He smiled at her as he had when she’d walked down a white runner to an arbor of white roses toward him. As it had then, her heart gave one quick leap.
Sometimes, she thought as she t
ook her place, turned, life could be pretty damn perfect.
• • •
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